Examining America's political family

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Think of “Other Desert Cities,” which opened Sunday at the Mark Taper Forum, as a holiday gift for political junkies and fans of serious theater – and, perhaps, an announcement that the mature years of a long-developing playwright have finally arrived.

Jon Robin Baitz's expertly crafted drama, which managed to dazzle New York critics and audiences in two separate productions last year, is his most ambitious work to date. Baitz, an astutely political writer, attempts nothing less than an indictment of all the forces that have divided America for the last two generations, from Vietnam through the Iraq War.

It's a tall order, and sometimes the playwright gets lost in entangling weeds of his own making. How could a story with this much thematic throw weight not get bogged down occasionally? But at its best, “Other Desert Cities” feels like a modern American masterwork. Finally, a native-born playwright of quality dares to tackle our country's turgid political and cultural schisms head on – a task that, for many years, was filled largely by foreign writers such as David Hare and the agitprop work of Tim Robbins and other polemicists.

In “The Substance of Fire” and other plays, Baitz has examined the dynamics of troubled families. “Other Desert Cities” is his most complete dysfunctional-family drama so far.

The Wyeths are a microcosm of America's two political solitudes.

Patriarch Lyman (Robert Foxworth) and his wife Polly (JoBeth Williams) are Southern California Republican bluebloods with familiar career paths. He was a Golden Age Hollywood actor. She was part of a screenwriting team with her boozy sister Silda Grauman (Jeannie Berlin).

Lyman and Polly segued into high-level politics and have impeccable party credentials. Nancy Reagan was a confidant; Lyman served in an ambassadorial post during the Reagan administration. Among the treasured photos in their Mid-Century modern Palm Springs home is a portrait of Barry Goldwater. (The Lyman's genteel palace-in-exile is rendered to Neutra-esque perfection by set designer Takeshi Kata.)

It's Christmas 2004, and the Wyeths are hosting their children for the holidays. Trip (Michael Weston) is a smart-alecky reality-TV producer. Brooke (Robin Weigert), his older sister, is a troubled writer battling clinical depression who has recently penned her second book. It's a personal memoir that lays bare some old Wyeth secrets, and it has the potential to tear the family apart.

Brooke and Trip had an older brother, Henry, who died years before. He was swallowed up by the drugs and politics of the 1960s counterculture. Henry became enmeshed in a Weather Underground-type movement that was responsible for the bombing of a military recruitment center in Long Beach, which resulted in the death of the building's janitor.

Confronted by his suspicious father about the crime, Henry tearfully confessed to his involvement. The resulting rift with his dad sent Henry spiraling into crisis and finally suicide.

That tragedy, which is only a horrible childhood memory to Brooke, resides under the surface like an unexploded bomb. It's also the jumping-off point for her depression. Why didn't Henry leave a note for her? They were close. Why do her parents refuse to mention Henry or even keep his memory alive with living room photos, the way they do with their friends in Hollywood and the Republican Party?

At first, the inter-generational barbs seem friendly, if pointed. “Despite your abhorrent and repugnant lefty politics, we want you to know we're damn proud of you,” Brooke is told when she reveals that her book has found a publisher.

Baitz's script is filled with many (perhaps a few too many) such bon mots. Many of the best lines are given to Polly, a polished paragon of right-wing self-assurance and icy contempt.

But a lot of chickens come home to roost in the second act, when the family must come to grips with the imminent publication of excerpts from Brooke's memoir. Here the playwright's narrative gifts come to the fore. Suffice to say that love trumps politics, but barely.

As Lyman, Foxworth presents a fading and tormented family monarch who knows his time has passed and has doubts about the wisdom of his choices. It's a quiet yet magisterial performance. Williams' Polly is all hard-lacquered brilliance, but you end up admiring what propels many of her pointed arrows: a fierce maternal instinct.

As portrayed by the gifted Berlin, Silda at first seems the embodiment of unreconstructed liberalism in steep decline, but Berlin makes it clear that Silda's self-destructive addictions and bad behavior are caused, at least in part, by the Wyeths' sad family history.

Weston is the only weak link in the cast. He hits Trip's coy, hipster qualities too hard, and the result can seem mannered at times.

Weigert isn't afraid to let us see Brooke's flaws, especially her blinkered politics and sense of entitlement. (“I am so tired of the indentured servitude of having a family” is a remark that will make many parents wince.) But Weigert never obscures Brooke's best quality: a belief in the importance of honesty.

The play shares that attribute. Baitz's story is a plea for candor on both sides of America's political chasm. Stop making assumptions, he tells us. Talk to each other. Listen. Compromise. Learn. I can't think of a better message to end a contentious year.

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